Broken Dolls

by Tyrolin Puxty

  “A tablet? No thanks, pills wouldn’t work on me anyway,” I decline kindly. “It’s imagination time.” I clap my hands together. “It’s where anything can and anything does happen! Sometimes I pretend I’m a spy infiltrating the attic to find the mysterious stone or… or I’m in the jungle riding a saber-toothed tiger!”

  “So what are we imagining today?”

  “That we’re traveling gypsies with magical powers,” I whisper, widening my eyes. “I’m Trixie, and you’re Kali! We’re sisters on the run from the demonic witch, Victor!”

  Gabby grins. “That sounds like a book!”

  “It’s a work in progress.” I giggle. “Okay, let’s start!”

  “Wait! What are my powers?”

  “Pretty much anything. You’re stronger than me because you’re connected to Victor.” I breathe in and begin to imagine Gabby and myself in carnival clothes with colorful corsets and laced boots.

  “What’s the go with Victor? Like, why is he after us?”

  “Because he hates that he doesn’t have power over us,” I say quickly, annoyed that we’re not jumping straight into the fun. “He’s trying to control us with magic. He hates Kali the most because she’s strong-willed and fights against him. She lives a life of her own and is happier for it. Trixie is the softer sister, who isn’t as powerful. Victor completely brainwashes her into doing his bidding.”

  Gabby frowns and awkwardly scratches at her elbow. “That’s intense. Is it just me, or does he sound like Grandpa?”

  My beautiful carnival disappears. The corsets fade. Gabby’s platinum pigtails return to her unkempt style. All I see is the attic, grey and dusty. I remain silent, Gabby’s words ringing in my head.

  “Ella? Ella, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it! It was just an observation!” Gabby tilts her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing.

  I shake my head and press the pause button on the recorder. “It’s okay. We should probably get ready for the ballet, anyway.”

  “No! I want to play imagination time. Look, I’m a gypsy! Woosh, go my magical powers!”

  “You should brush your hair,” I say quietly, staring at the dead flowers in the corner of the room that the professor never removed.

  Gabby chews the side of her lip, a concerned or guilty look on her face–I can’t figure out which. She stands and leaves, her walk slow.

  I sit alone, wondering about my story. I never had a title for it, but one just popped into my head.

  Brainwashed.

  The dress is more beautiful than anything I could ever imagine. I almost look human in it. Its full length covers my hinged knees and stick-thin legs. Unfortunately, it only seems to highlight my missing hand, but that’s fixable. The professor will get a new one for me tomorrow.

  I twirl in the mirror that the professor wiped down for me. The dress lifts and floats down, like a feather.

  It is a good distraction from the foggy, plastic box the professor has put over the chest. He said Lisa won’t be able to infiltrate it and I should be safe while they’re at the ballet. I hate the stupid box! My voice sounds muffled in here, and I can barely see through it.

  The door clicks closed, and I freeze, then rush towards the bed and wrap the blanket around me, fearful that the professor will not be satisfied until I explain why I’m in such a lovely dress.

  “Ella?” An outline of Gabby shows through the plastic. She lifts it up and frowns. “Why’s it so dark in here? I can’t have this!” She leans over and turns on the flashlight in the chest, illuminating the small area. She looks immaculate. The professor has let her wear red lipstick to match the red, flowing skirt. The top half of her dress is covered in silver sequins, the straps hidden by her curled hair.

  “He’s letting you go to the ballet? How did you convince him?” I jump onto my bed. “You look very pretty, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” She twinkles. “It was actually pretty easy to guilt him into it. All I had to say was I’ve only got one week left to enjoy the small things in life, and he folded.”

  I cringe. It bugs me, how blasé she is about her terminal illness. Most of it is probably an act, but it’s almost like she doesn’t appreciate being human.

  Gabby reaches for her handbag and opens it. Excluding the gold strap, it fits her outfit to a T. “Okay, get in!”

  I climb up the ladder and look down at the purse. There’s not going to be a lot of room for me in there. It looks so dark and tight, it reminds me of my traumatic experience in the mouse hole.

  “Gabrielle? Where are you?” The professor is outside.

  “Crap! Hurry, hurry!” Gabby waves for me to get in the bag.

  I close my eyes and dive into the darkness. The opening clicks shut behind me the moment I land. I barely have time to get used to my surroundings before Gabby begins to walk. “Coming, Grandpa!”

  The door screeches, and we’ve left the attic.

  I’m not excited about the ballet. To be honest, the dancers have barely crossed my mind. I’ve been far too preoccupied with the possibility of getting into trouble. I shift so that I’m on the flat of my back. Luckily, Gabby didn’t put anything else in the purse–only a handful of coins.

  “Where were you?” the professor asks when Gabby reaches the bottom of the stairs.

  “Saying goodbye to Ella. I said I’d take notes for her so she can practice new dance moves.”

  I shake my head. How can she lie easily to her grandfather?

  Keys jangle, and Gabby and the professor step outside.

  “I love my little broken doll,” the professor says. I can’t see him, but a smile warms his voice. “She would’ve loved the ballet.”

  “Why not let her come, then?” Gabby throws the purse into the car before following suit. I bounce around and readjust my position.

  The professor closes his door and starts up the engine. “Can you imagine what society would think if they found a walking, talking doll? She’d be taken away from us.”

  “Couldn’t she pretend to be a real doll? You know, inanimate?”

  It’s odd, hearing people talk about you when you’re not supposed to be there. It’s both flattering and nerve-wracking that at any given minute, you’ll hear something you won’t like.

  “And what kind of life would that be? Pretending to be something you’re not?” the professor asks. The car rocks as we swerve out onto the road.

  “Probably better than a life where nothing happens,” Gabby mumbles. “Seriously, Grandpa. It’s kind of ridiculous not letting her ever leave the attic.”

  “Gabby, you don’t understand!” His voice is tight. “It’s what she wanted!”

  No way! I assume Gabby is as stunned as I am because she doesn’t reply. Just as well. I wouldn’t know what to ask him. He has to be lying. Who’d want a lonely eternity in the attic?

  The silence is broken when the radio comes on. The music is calm and sweet, with a slow beat and soothing bass. It must be what gives Gabby the confidence to speak.

  “Why do you call Ella a broken doll?” She picks up the purse and sits it on her lap. How does she know I find being in people’s laps comforting?

  “Because that’s what she is.” The professor is harder to hear over the music. I really wish he’d learn to speak through his diaphragm.

  “But how?” Gabby presses. “She’s missing a hand, sure, but she’s not broken.”

  “You didn’t know her when she was human.”

  Gabby doesn’t respond. Instead, as the music picks up, she clips open the purse and glances at me with a confused expression. I shrug and mouth ‘I don’t know’. I never met myself as a human–whom am I to tell if I wasn’t a completely different person?

  The streetlamps blind me as we pass them. Gabby notices me squinting and closes her purse, once again leaving me in what feels like an eternal void.

  The car slows, and Gabby leans to the left when we turn into, assumingly, a parking lot. The engine’s purr abruptly cuts off, and Gabby and the pr
ofessor hurry out.

  People murmur nearby as the car lock engages, and the bumps that accompany Gabby’s bouncy way of walking tell me we are going inside.

  “Sure is busy tonight,” Gabby says, and the professor responds with a disinterested grunt.

  Very slowly, a stream of light pours into the handbag as Gabby unlatches the lock. I crouch and peek over the rim, noting their tenseness.

  It’s not fair that they’re fighting over me. Maybe, I shouldn’t have come. At least, this way I wouldn’t feel guilty about their quarrel.

  I don’t dwell on their squabble for long. I’m far too gobsmacked by the size of the theatre up ahead to focus on anything else.

  It’s big–well, obviously–and really modern. The theatres I’ve seen on TV are rustic and adorned with gargoyles or something. This theatre looks like an abstract piece of rock that’s conveniently landed in the right place at the right time.

  We enter the foyer, golden lights and crimson carpet only enhancing the posh, glamorous vibe. The professor is immediately greeted by a waiter who offers a glass of sparkling wine. The professor kindly refuses and places a tender hand on Gabby’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry for the harsh words exchanged, dear,” he says softly. “I love you.”

  “Love you too,” Gabby replies matter-of-factly and strokes his hand.

  “You’re very brave.” The tears well up in the professor’s eyes.

  Gabby shrugs. “Don’t have a choice. I think Libby’s braver.”

  “Who is Libby?”

  Gabby points to a girl her age, surrounded by family. The girl has no hair and is wearing a bandana tightly around her head. Her skin is as dark as Lisa’s clothing, and her eyebrows are non-existent. She is frail, but she doesn’t stop smiling. I don’t think anyone should stop smiling.

  “She’s sick, like me, but with something as old as time. She’s been in and out of the hospital her whole life and said the next time she goes in will be her last. I haven’t worked out if she’s just trying to be positive in a bad situation.” Gabby licks her lips. “I’m thirsty. May I please get a lemonade?”

  Libby must hear Gabby’s voice, because her eyes glisten when she waves her hand dramatically over her head, calling out. She walks towards Gabby to embrace her, her teeth glorious pearls.

  “Lovely to see you here!” Libby’s voice is deep and angelic.

  “You too. When did you come out of hospital?” Gabby nods at the hospital gown that hangs past Libby’s red coat.

  “Thirty minutes ago.” Libby laughs. “I’m going back in tonight. I didn’t want to spend my birthday in bed.”

  I glance at the professor who is eyeing Libby a little too intensely. His narrowed eyes, pursed lips, and flared nostrils would give me goosebumps if I had skin.

  “How old are you?” He crosses his arms.

  Libby doesn’t seem perturbed by the curtness. “I’m twelve today, sir.”

  “And you’re terminal, correct?” If I had been drinking water, I would’ve spit it out. Did he really just ask a kid if she’s terminal? Who does that?

  “I don’t see it that way, sir.” Libby smiles, but the sadness tinges her voice. “My adventure may end here, but it shall continue elsewhere.”

  “Hmm,” he mumbles.

  Really? That’s all the professor can say? ‘Hmm’? What’s wrong with him tonight?

  The lights flicker, followed by a cheery ding.

  “Oh, the show’s about to begin!” Libby’s face lights up. She hugs Gabby and inexplicably curtsies to the professor. There’s no way in the world I would have been polite to him after the way he conducted himself. “Have a lovely time!”

  When she’s out of earshot, the professor bends down to Gabby. “What is her full name?”

  “Libby Cox.” Gabby frowns, visibly unsettled by the professor’s behavior.

  “And how do you know her?”

  “From school, before she got sick.”

  The professor hesitates. “Do you like her?”

  “Yeah, she’s nice.” Gabby shifts and pokes her finger through the purse. She wiggles it, so I know she’s seeking reassurance. I wrap my arms around it and cuddle her finger, hoping it’s enough. “So, about that lemonade?”

  “You head inside, Gabrielle. I’ll get you that drink.” The professor pats her softly on the shoulder before walking against the flow of theatergoers to reach the bar.

  Gabby enters through a set of grand doors and opens the purse wider for me to view the inside. The stage is magnificent–everything I could’ve ever wished to perform on. The starlit ceiling shines down on the fake vines wrapped around the columns, and the seats look expensive. Like really, expensive. I’d be too nervous to drink in case I spilled anything on the fabric.

  Gabby squeezes through the fourth aisle and settles in her seat. “Seriously! What is wrong with Grandpa?” she whispers, trying not to look at me when she speaks. I presume it’s because she doesn’t want people to think she is talking to her crotch. “That was so…so…”

  “I know!” I whisper too, semi-paranoid about being seen. I keep my nose rested on the tip of the purse, using that as my visibility cut-off. “If this were a movie, I’d suspect him of being the creepy stalker or killer. I just… I don’t know; things are sucking lately.”

  “Preaching to the choir, Ella.” Gabby leans against the armrest. “But, we’re finally here. It’s another one for the bucket list. Everything is beautiful at the ballet…”

  Gabby was wrong. Nothing was beautiful at the ballet. It was better than that.

  Graceful men lifted lovely girls in white, and princes swooned over their swans. Whenever a ballerina raised her arms, someone was always there to catch her.

  The live music was so much better than the deteriorating TV speakers. The orchestra was like a romantic radioactive wave that wafted through the theater, sending ripples of emotion through the audience.

  The dancers’ technique was flawless, impeccable, perfect. I loved how their eyes glistened when the audience cheered. I envied their heaving chests as they posed during the applause. I wanted the exquisitely crafted costumes that pressed into their flesh. They have a life.

  I put my hand to my mouth and sob. This time, not because I’m happy. I’m crying because of fury, envy… hatred. I don’t want to tear my gaze away from the beauty, but I can’t bear to watch a life that isn’t mine.

  Tears run down my cheeks as I curl into a small ball in the purse. Gabby prods my side, but I cover my face with my good hand. I’m beyond words.

  “Grandpa, I have to use the bathroom,” Gabby whispers.

  “Oh!” The professor sounds shocked. “Should I come with you?”

  “No, no, it’s fine. You enjoy!”

  The track feels like an eternity. I don’t notice or care where we’re going. It’s only when Gabby clamps her hand around my waist and sits me on top of the sink in a room filled with cubicles and glaring white tiles that I calm down.

  “What’s going on?” Her voice is exasperated. She leans on one leg, her arms rested crossly on her hips. “I thought you would like this!”

  I sniff, too ashamed to look her in the eye. I fiddle with my stump (man, I wish I knew where my hand was) and kick my dress as I swing my legs.

  “I don’t want to be this way anymore, Gabby,” I mumble. “I always imagined being human again, but I never realized how much I despised being a doll. I always thought it was cool that I never felt pain or aged, but since meeting you… Gabby, I’m not living. I’m dead. What if I am dead? Maybe, Lisa is doing me a favor by trying to kill me! I can’t go on like this!”

  “Whoa, ease up!” Gabby swipes at my cheeks with her thumb. “When I said I wasn’t going to waste any more time on tears, I didn’t just mean my own. Ella, you’re immortal. Do you know how much I wish I could be like you? I have a week to live, and here you’re complaining that your life isn’t perfect!”

  I bite my bottom lip and nod slowly. “Gabby, I’m so sorry.”
/>
  “Don’t be sorry.” She lifts me from the sink and lowers me into her purse. “Just be grateful.”

  I stare at her from the purse, a warm feeling pulsating in my chest. She really cares about me; maybe about as much as I care about her. “I am grateful,” I say softly. “Gabby? I know this sounds weird, considering we haven’t known each other for long… and I’m really sorry for saying this… but, I, um… I…”

  “I love you, too.” Gabby lifts her purse to kiss my head.

  I can’t stop grinning. For some illogical reason, I now feel like I can take on the world.

  Is it possible to watch something without ever really seeing it? Because that’s what happened when I tried to watch the remainder of the ballet. I was too busy gathering old memories from my human life. Well, truth be told, I was only making them up. I liked the concept of horse-riding and gymnastics, but I’m not sure why.

  I applauded half-heartedly when the dancers bowed and smiled nostalgically at the drawn curtain. My first and last visit to the ballet hadn’t been the soiree I envisioned, but it probably beat sitting alone in a plastic box avoiding Lisa.

  “Hey! It’s Libby!” Gabby says when we reach our car. I peek through the opening in the purse and sure enough, Libby’s beaming four cars down.

  “I don’t see you for months, and now you can’t get rid of me!” Libby blows Gabby a kiss. “Good luck, bud. See ya on the other side.”

  Gabby doesn’t reply, she only waves and throws herself in the backseat of the car.

  The professor turns the on the ignition, muffling the outside voices. “What did you think, Gabrielle? Did you enjoy yourself?”

  Gabby pauses, tightening her lips. “I loved it.”

  “I’m glad, sweetheart.” He reverses out of the parking space. We drive for the length of two modern contemporary songs playing on the radio, before the professor takes a deep breath. “I liked your friend.” His voice is higher than usual, and he sniffs after he speaks.

  Gabby exchanges a worried look with me and tents her fingers in her lap. “I know.”